


Why Not Me

by Hexiva



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Canon Queer Character, Class Issues, Classism, Episode: s4e04 Page Not Found, M/M, Missing scene or AU?, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24607399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: Missing scene from episode 404. Tyrell asks Elliot why he doesn't love him, and Elliot tells him.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick (one-sided)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Why Not Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading about episode 404, and how the whole thing was set up so that Tyrell and Elliot could lay it all out and finally really talk to each other. To me, it felt like the episode didn't quite live up to that; Tyrell opens up, but Elliot stays locked up in his head except for the moment he confesses that he doesn't like being an outsider either. He doesn't break down and confess he always loved Tyrell, the way a lot of people wanted, but he ALSO doesn't get a chance to let loose and hold Tyrell to task for all of the shitty things about Tyrell. So I wrote a fic where he gets to do that.

“Just . . . tell me one thing,” Tyrell says, into the darkness of the cold forest. “Why not me?” His voice is high and childish. “I did everything for you. Why wasn’t I good enough?”

We’re walking through the forest in the middle of fucking nowhere, with the Dark Army after us, and we’re probably going to die, and Tyrell is asking stupid fucking questions. I close my eyes, trying to steady myself. I’m angry, but I know it’s not really at Tyrell. Tyrell’s entitlement is a drop in the bucket of the ocean of bullshit that is my life right now. “Tyrell - ” I say.

“Just tell me why,” Tyrell says, his voice catching in his throat. He cries so easily, like there’s no barrier, like he doesn’t care who sees. I envy that. “We’re going to die here anyway. It doesn’t matter. Just tell me.”

I breathe in, anger flickering in my chest. “If you don’t know by now, Tyrell, you’re not going to understand.” That’s harsh, but what am I supposed to say? It’s true.

“Why?” Tyrell repeats, again. 

I sigh, and cross my arms around myself, protectively. Where the fuck do I start? “You’re a - ” Where do I even fucking start?  _ You’re a psychopath?  _

Maybe he is. But he does love me. That’s the worst part of this stupid fucking conversation - it would be a lot easier if I didn’t know he loved me. “When I first met you, you were EvilCorp’s Vice President of Technology. You were the  _ enemy.”  _ No, that’s not strong enough. That’s not enough. It’s not about sides, about us vs. them. It’s about what he represents, the symbol of unquestioned, unearned privilege, the rich guy who thinks he’s God, who thinks everyone around him is some kind of toy he can use and discard at will. Tyrell Wellick is everything I hate in the world. “You asked me out to lunch and while we were eating you told me about how you think poor people like me are cockroaches!” I’ve gotten started now, and it feels good, feels good to finally talk, finally let out all of the fury that’s been building in me for what feels like my entire life. “Like I didn’t already know that’s what people like you thought, like I didn’t already know that’s what men exactly like you were thinking when they sentenced my father to death for another few pennies on the dollar.”

I laugh, bitter and harsh. “And even after all that - after you  _ strangled a woman  _ and came to my apartment to tell me how good it felt and threatened to strangle me too if I didn’t work with you - even that wasn’t enough for me, was it? I still let myself imagine maybe we could be friends.” I think back to that moment in prison, when I imagined a better world and saw him in it, and I hate myself for being so pathetic and lonely and desperate that I’d want to be friends with a capitalist murderer. “And then you shot me in the stomach because I tried to stop you from committing mass murder! Even - even this - ” I gesture around at the nightmare we’re in now. “All of this happened because you broke into my fucking house! It never stops with you! And now you’re standing here, asking me why I’m not  _ in love  _ with you like you have zero fucking clue why I might not like you that much? I mean, Christ - ” I shake my head. “Did it ever occur to you I might just be straight?”

Tyrell, who looks like he’s been slapped in the face, opens his mouth to say something, and I cut him off. “I’m  _ not  _ straight, but did you ever fucking think to ask? No! Because you don’t think it  _ matters  _ what other people think. Because you think you should be able to control people, because you think you’re  _ owed  _ something. Because people like me, we’re cockroaches to you. You might’ve changed sides, but that doesn’t matter to you, does it? Because it was never about politics to you. You think politics is just politics, but it’s  _ not,  _ it never has been, it’s  _ life and death  _ for the rest of the fucking world except for you. You think I could come right back and get my job back and play the hero if  _ I’d  _ been accused of a fuckton of terrorist attacks?”

I run out of steam. Tyrell is silent, and I look over at him to find he’s crying, his face a mask of misery, his arms wrapped around himself. Despite myself, I feel bad. Tyrell goes from cold-blooded killer to crying child so fast that I can’t keep track. It’s confusing.

He probably feels the same way about me. 

“I did it for you,” Tyrell says, quietly. “I did it all for you.”

I look away. I don’t want to see him cry. It feels like an intrusion somehow, witnessing something private. “I know,” I say, just as quiet. “But I never asked you to.”

We walk in silence for awhile. The  _ crunch, crunch  _ of the snow under our feet seems loud in my ears. I wonder if Tyrell’s expensive shoes hurt him after walking for so long. 

“If I . . .” Tyrell starts. “If things had been different . . . would you have - could you ever - ?”

I don’t want to think about this, but I do it anyway. I try to picture myself hanging out with Tyrell. Going to lunch with him, and talking about computers instead of money. Hanging out with him, maybe even inviting him back to my apartment, watching a movie with him. Maybe he likes Back to the Future too. Maybe in my grungy little apartment, he could let down his control, let himself talk to me as an equal instead of calling me a cockroach or worshipping me as a god. Maybe he would tell me about himself, and I would sit and listen and understand him a little better, and it wouldn’t matter that we’re so different. After all, Leon was different from me. Shayla was different from me. Maybe we could have made it work, together.

I shut my eyes. It hurts too much to think about. “I don’t know,” I say. 

We keep walking. It feels like it’s getting colder - or maybe I’m just getting tired. We’re going to die here.

“I’m sorry,” Tyrell says, quietly.

For what? For threatening to kill me? For being a classist piece of shit? For working for an evil conglomerate? For breaking into my house? For running his mouth and probably getting us both killed by the Dark Army? 

Maybe all of it. Maybe nothing.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say. 

We walk on.


End file.
